


It's Okay, Red

by caro_devss (tricksune)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alternate Canon, Awesome Erica, Dancing, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pining, Scott is a Good Friend, Underage Drinking, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:18:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tricksune/pseuds/caro_devss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek have their heads up their asses.</p>
<p>Erica intervenes in her own special way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Okay, Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elegantlydisastrous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantlydisastrous/gifts).



> As always, thanks to my wonderful amazing beta Kylie!

Stiles was seriously ready to slam his head into the wall.

 

Instead, he started snickering in slightly manic annoyance because that was literally part of his problem.

 

He had accepted his feelings for Derek months ago. If his years of loving Lydia from afar were any indication, Stiles knew that this was something he’d be dealing with for the long haul because when he fell, he fell _hard_. Like, as hard as that guy that jumped from space and skydived all the way to the ground in a glorified spacesuit.

 

So yeah, his feelings weren’t going away anytime soon.

 

But he could deal with that, he really could, if it weren’t for the stubborn asshole doing absolutely everything in his power to unintentionally make Stiles fall harder.

 

Like right now. Derek was currently standing right in Stiles’ space, yelling angrily about his decision to come along on their latest mission, which, in all fairness he should have picked up on the blip in Stiles’ heartbeat when he had said he’d stay home. And it just so happens that his quick thinking in the matter saved the lives of everyone in the pack, but Derek was making it his mission in life to turn everything that went badly around on Stiles and make everything his fault.

 

And wasn’t that fucked up, that Derek blaming him for almost dying (a very loose term, in Stiles’ opinion) was getting him hard.

 

Stiles tuned back in, listened to “--and because of that, she almost _gutted_ you--” before grabbing his face with both hands and slamming their lips together.

 

Derek’s mouth was warm and slick and perfect, everything Stiles had hoped it would be-- except Derek wasn’t kissing him back. At all.

 

Stiles opened his eyes slowly, taking in Derek’s eyes glaring into his as he pulled his lips off and dropped his hands like they had been burned. Which they pretty much had been.

 

“Don’t. Do. That. Again,” was all Derek hissed out before he shoved past Stiles’ shoulder and stalked out of the room.

 

This time, Sties did slam his head into the wall.

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


He didn’t _pine._

 

 

Scott said he was pining, but this is also coming from the boy who writes depressing Victorian-era style poetry if he doesn’t see Allison at least every other day. So yeah. Not pining.

 

Hiding out in his room and eating the whole contents of his fridge while sleeping under a pillow fort watching his mom’s favorite movies, maybe. Humiliation is a pretty shitty thing to have to deal with, and he was doing the best he could.

 

He’d missed the pack meeting yesterday, perfectly content to slip in a copy of _Dirty Dancing_ and eat his dad’s not-so-hidden stash of donut holes under his tent of blankets while everyone duked it out over strategy and training. And avoiding Derek. He wasn’t too manly to admit he was hiding from the guy, but he had every damn reason to.

 

Derek could be a massive bag of dicks at times, but he had honestly been getting a little better after these last few months. The kiss incident was the first time in over three weeks that Derek had yelled at Stiles for anything serious, and he had counted that as serious progress until he saw the icy stare that was leveled at him post-peck. That burned to think about, twisting his gut sour. He had thought the guy cared, but he’s been wrong before, so.

 

Stiles let out an _oomf_ as he rolled over on his bed, falling to the ground in a bout of laziness and then proceeded to push himself out the door on his back, using his legs to propel him backwards. He kept pushing towards the bathroom until he was stopped by what felt like the toe of a shoe to the top of his head.

 

“Stiles. What are you doing?”

 

He looked up to see long, lean jean-clad legs connected to a tight black camisole and an explosion of thick blonde curls framing a familiar face. Stiles grinned.

 

“Heyyyy Erica.”

 

She huffed out a laugh before dropping to her knees and taking a seat beside his head. “Any particular reason you’re sliding across the floor like an earthworm?”

 

Stiles shook his head. “Nope. Just lazy. What brings you here to my mancave of comfort,  oh-fierce-one?”

 

Erica smirked knowingly, and Stiles had had enough of thinking about what he knew she was ready to say. “Nope. Nuh uh. Not talking about it. How did you even find out, anyway?”

 

She ran a hand gently through his hair, and despite himself Stiles pushed his head up into her touch. Sue him, he was sad. And lonely.

 

“You’re not the only one that’s been moping around, Batman. Derek looks like someone kicked him in the family jewels, and he usually only gets that look around you, so…”

 

“So you assumed I did something? And family jokes, _nice_.” Erica cringed a little but nodded, ran her fingers through his hair once more before she took his hand and pulled. “Come on, stinky. Let’s get up.” She stood in one fluid motion, dragging a non-compliant Stiles a few inches across the floor in the process.

 

“Nnngh. Nope.”

 

She sighed the sigh of the long-suffering before sliding her arms underneath his biceps and yanking. Stiles yelped as he was pulled to his feet, earning him a dark look from Erica.

 

“Jesus Christ, I feel sorry for Boyd and Isaac,” Stiles moaned as Erica walked away and into his room, stopping only when she reached his dresser. She pulled open drawer after drawer, pawing through the jumbled piles of clothes as Stiles sat back on the bed and watched in defeat.

 

“Hmm…” Erica opened the last drawer and only had to rummage for a second before she pulled out his favorite red hoodie. “Yep, this will work.” Stiles started to protest, but it was lost as she pulled the hoodie over her head, leaned down and kissed Stiles straight on the lips before sliding the window open and climbing out.

 

“My life is weird,” is all he muttered before collapsing backwards and rolling himself into a blanket burrito.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek wasn’t _pining._

 

Pining was for the weak; for the broken-hearted teenagers scrambling to obsess over the object of their unrequited affection while simultaneously torturing themselves in the process.

 

Derek was only torturing himself. He had a chance, the biggest fucking chance to maybe have something worthwhile with Stiles, and he was so damn angry about the fight that he _glared_ at him post-kiss.

 

And then stormed out of the room like a fucking two year-old. And growled. There was definitely some growling in there too.

 

So yeah, he wasn’t pining. Just overanalyzing every second of that moment over and over and over while he ate a truckload of processed sugar products and wallowed in self-misery and loathing under the quilt Mrs. Mableworth had gifted him for his help in cleaning her gutters.

 

Not pining.

 

At least, he wasn’t until Erica walked in to the damn house wearing Stiles’ hoodie and scent like she owned it. And… Oh _fuck_ no.

 

Derek stalked up to his beta before angrily reeling her in by the bright red fabric on her shoulders and inhaling right over her lips. Where Stiles’ scent was currently taking residence.

 

He growled angrily, eyes bleeding red as he glared at her for an explanation.

 

Erica yelped in protest, looking disconcertingly innocent before shouting. “What the hell is your problem, Derek?!”

 

Derek shut his eyes, took a deep breath, held it, retracted his claws. Let go of the hoodie. Took a step backwards. “Just, seriously. What the _absolute_. fuck. Erica.”

 

“What are you even talking about?” Erica quipped, stepping backwards and smoothing the wrinkles Derek’s grip had left. “Shit, you punctured his hoodie!”

 

Derek ran both hands down his face in frustration as he sat down on the edge of the couch beside him. “Erica. What are you… Are you two…”

 

“Dating?” Erica fucking _beamed_. “Yeah, yeah we are. You know I’ve had a crush on him for years, right? I don’t know, I just decided it was time to suck it up and tell him.” She held the long sleeve of the hoodie up to her nose, inhaling deeply while staring at Derek with a devious glint in her eyes. “Besides, he just looks so damn sexy with that bat. I mean, _fuck_. The shoulders on that boy…”

 

Derek knew. He’d lost track of how many times those shoulders caused him to forget what he came into Stiles’ room to ask about in the first place.

 

“Damnit, Erica…” Derek muttered under his breath. His decision was already made. He would never be one of those Alphas that commanded their betas against their will, and plus… he just wanted her to be happy. No matter how much it felt like his insides were twisting into a knot. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

 

Erica’s face fell at that, so minutely that anyone else probably wouldn’t have seen it. But Derek knew her better than anyone, excluding her family. He knew her mannerisms, her tells, her nervous ticks. Derek seriously doubted any of his pack realized just how much he paid attention to them, and he wasn’t one to get hurt easily.

 

Still, sometimes things stung more than he let on.

 

She forced a smile back on her face before turning around and walking back out the door, leaving Derek alone and feeling even worse than he did before.

 

At least being used to it helped to dampen the pain, somewhat.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles gave himself a week before he forced himself to get up, put on a socially acceptable outfit and head out to Jungle. Scott, being the absolute best friend he was, offered to designated drive, which is how Stiles found himself sandwiched between an absolute _hunk_ of a brunette and a muscular, tanned blonde in the center of the mass of sweaty men and the always lovely Ladies dancing at the club.

 

He could feel an erection digging into his ass from behind, and he experimentally ground his hips backwards as the hands around his waist tightened to the point of almost bruising. Stiles groaned as he felt the hot breath in his ear, the body behind him whispering dirty words into his hair as he worked his hips in a fluid half-circle against the willing heat to his back.

 

He stilled as wet lips mouthed up the side of his neck, and before he knew it he was dragging the guy to the bathrooms in the most direct path he could find through the crowd. Stiles was tired of moping. Brunette guy was hot as fuck, ready, and most importantly, _willing_. There was no way in hell that Stiles wasn’t going to capitalize on possibly the only dick he was drunk enough to go for. Bad logic, maybe, but he was way too drunk to care.

 

Which was all fine and dandy until a clawed grip grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him into the crowd only feet from the bathroom. Because his fucking _luck_.

 

“Wha’ the fuck…” was all he got out before Erica was rounding to his front, grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling him in for a bruising kiss.

 

Stiles kissed back for all of two seconds before his brain caught up, and no. He distinctly remembers a conversation on boundaries he had been meaning to have with the chick.

 

“Erica, not that you aren’t possibly the most beautiful girl on the planet- after Lyds, of course- but the kissing thing? What the fuck is that about?”

 

Erica’s hands slipped up Stiles’ sides, over his chest and came to rest over his shoulders as she grinned in response to his question.

 

“Red, trust me when I say that you aren’t exactly my type anymore. Not that I won’t always love my partner in crime,” she added quickly at his affronted look, “but let’s just say I have a deeper agenda here. One that will make the both of us a whole lot happier. So will you trust me for a minute and go with this?” Her voice was almost a whisper by the end, and Stiles had barely cocked a suspicious eyebrow and nodded before her lips and body were pressed flush against his in more than one intimate way.

 

She kissed him hard and deep, and Stiles couldn’t help the tiny moan he let out as she canted her hips into his in time with the music. He could feel her smirk against his mouth, so he bit at her lip in retaliation and woah, he was actually having fun with this. Whatever “this” was.

 

Stiles felt, rather than saw, Erica still against him, but it was only for a second before she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and leaned in to whisper, “Time to put on the real show,” before ducking down to suck a hickey into the pale skin of his flesh. And yeah, Stiles was getting hard. Very hard very quickly, and by Erica’s hands gripping his ass he knew that she knew it.

 

Stiles slid his hands under her shirt in the back, feeling the smooth skin burn his aching palms as he slid them higher and higher, gipping tighter as she licked openly into his mouth. She gave his butt one last firm squeeze before leaning back enough to look him in the eyes and speak.

 

“We need to pretend to have an argument, and then you have to fake break-up with me. Can you do that? And it needs to be convincing for this to work.”

 

“For what to work?” Stiles inquired, but he drew his eyebrows closer together and frowned as he started to act through her scenario out of curiosity.

 

“Trust me, you’ll see,” she muttered as she took a small step back, schooling a shocked expression on to her face as she slid her arms off from around his shoulders.

 

“Still not for sure what’s going on here,” Stiles quipped as he pulled his hands from the back of her shirt and raised a hand in pretend argument.

 

_“You’ll see,”_ Erica gritted out before she scrubbed her hands over her face in fake defeat, planted a gentle kiss on his forehead, and turned sharply on her heel to traipse away towards the bar.

 

“I will seriously never get over how weird my life is,” Stiles grumbled as he adjusted himself in his pants and resigned himself to go look for the brunette from earlier.

 

He only made it a few feet before the bodies were pressed too tightly together for him to continue, so he raised himself up to his tiptoes as he took a brief scan of the room. And nada, no one he recognized was within the near vicinity.

 

He was just about to drop down and find an open area when he caught sight of Scott across the room, dancing much more intimately than Stiles would have expected of him with a curly-haired stranger. The guy was tall and blonde, and getting _extremely_ close to Scott. Like, way past the usual space barriers when two guys were dancing face-to-face. Stiles was ready to call out to Scott at werewolf hearing levels and check on him when they shifted around in a semicircular pattern and _oh,_ blonde curly-haired stranger was Isaac. Which turned out to be an extremely interesting development that Stiles probably wouldn’t have guessed at before and he resolved to have a long and particularly invasive chat with his supposed best friend, who was supposed to _tell him these things,_ later.

 

But they looked happy, which was such a rare thing anymore for any of them that Stiles just pulled up a small smile and started to make his way to the exit. He was still too drunk to drive- not that it mattered anyways since he didn’t have his Jeep- so he headed over to grab his jacket from the back of Scott’s unlocked car and wrapped it tightly around his torso as he started walking out of the parking lot and down the adjacent street.

 

It took Stiles an embarrassing amount of time to figure out that he was lost, even for his intoxication standards. He had gotten caught up in his head on the clusterfuck that was their lives anymore and by the time he started paying attention to where he was headed, he realized that he didn’t immediately recognize the tall buildings flanking him on either side of the street he was on.

 

He reached for the front pocket that he usually kept his phone in, but his fingers brushed against tight denim and nothing else. Which really sucked, because if Stiles had learned anything at all these last two years fighting mythical creatures of the night, it was to always have your phone available and to never go anywhere secluded alone if you didn’t want to die.

 

So of course he would leave his phone in the car and wander off into the _middle of fucking nowhere,_ probably in the crime-hardened slums of the city if his shitty luck was holding true.

 

Something that sounded like a trashcan knocking over sounded behind him, and Stiles flinched before shooting off into as fast of a run as he could manage in his inebriated state. So basically, a sober man’s jog. He set his sights on what looked like a small bakery nestled into a groove between steel buildings and concrete alleyways and made it to the edge of the store before hands grabbed his jacket from the alley and yanked him in.

 

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and braced for the punch he knew would be coming as he was shoved against the rough wall behind him. There was no use denying the inevitable, and the inevitable was going to hurt like a bitch. He had enough experience to know that.

 

“Stiles, what the hell are you _doing?”_

 

Well, that was new.

 

He opened his eyes slowly, squinting warily as he took in the view through the slits of his vision. Tight jeans, Black… leather? Black leather jacket. Ridiculously familiar broad shoulders and oh.

 

“Derek. To what do I owe th’mispleasure-” Stiles unclenched his fists from their defensive grips in front of his face and used them to push Derek back by his chest, “-of your company this fine fucking evening?”

 

Derek rolled his eyes before taking a lithe step forward, pushing Stiles back into the wall with his body and framing his head against the gray concrete with his forearms.

 

“You know Stiles, this really isn’t the best neighborhood to be walking around in late at night. Lots of people wouldn’t think twice before cornering-” Derek leaned in close enough that his breath caused a tingling wave of goosebumps to break out across Stiles’ neck, “-and taking advantage of some poor, drunk boy, lost in the streets on his way home.” His voice was almost mocking, and he ran his nose delicately across the sensitive skin of Stiles’ jaw. Stiles would be lying through his teeth if he said that he wasn’t harder than he’d ever been in that moment. He let out a shaky moan as Derek slipped a thigh in between his and pushed up, and he could feel the resulting smirk press against his neck.

 

“Derek… What…”

 

The Alpha grinned almost ferally as he slid his hands from the wall, down Stiles’ arms, and closed them around his clenched fists.

 

“Come on, Stiles. My place is only a few blocks from here, you can sleep there tonight.”

 

With that he dropped his left hand, pulling Stiles away from the wall with his right as he turned to lead the way to the loft. And huh, apparently Stiles’ subconscious had a sick sense of humor, leading him to the _one_ person he was trying to get his mind off of. Except wait, there was absolutely no reason that Derek should be in the commercial part of town they were in at two in the morning, seeing as his loft was definitely settled in the adjoining residential area of Beacon Hills.

 

Stiles dug his heels in and voiced those exact thoughts just as they began to make their way towards the elevator of Derek’s building. All he did in reply was shrug and say, “I knew you’d be too drunk to make it home,” as if he hadn’t apparently just _followed_ Stiles for three miles. On foot. At two in the morning. From the club.

 

“You do know how absolutely creepy that is, right? Did you follow me there? Jesus _fuck,_ Derek.”

 

An expression Stiles couldn’t place briefly shadowed Derek’s face, but it was gone almost as soon as it had appeared and was replaced by thinly-veiled… hurt?

 

“Erica invited me.” At Stiles’ confused glare, he added, “To the club. Scott asked Isaac, who asked Boyd and Erica… who asked me.” Derek dropped Stiles’ hand, resolutely not making eye contact as he turned around and pressed the button for the elevator. “So no, I wasn’t following you.”

 

The whir of the elevator moving was the only sound for a few seconds, followed by the _ping_ announcing the arrival of the lift and the quiet thudding of the doors sliding open. Derek stepped in, finally making eye contact with Stiles as he stuck a hand out through the sensor to keep it from closing. It was a clear invitation, and obviously this conversation was far from over, so Stiles stepped in beside the arm and pressed the button for the top.

 

The doors had barely shut in front of them before Stiles whirled around on Derek, poking an accusing finger into his chest and pushing him backwards into the wall. He was way, way past fed up. “You don’t get to be butthurt about that, Derek. It’s not the first time you’ve pulled something like that on one of us.” Derek nodded, eyes wide, and Stiles quirked an acknowledging eyebrow at him.

 

“I’m sorry about things with Erica.”

 

Stiles was drunk, sure, but he wasn’t _that_ drunk. “What things with Erica?”

 

This time Derek lifted an eyebrow, sarcastically of course, and Stiles _thwacked_ him on the shoulder just as the doors clunked open behind them. Derek opened his mouth in protest, but Stiles stopped him with a dark glare.

 

“I might not have been able to hear you two over the music and everyone yelling, but I have eyes. I know a break-up when I see one.”

 

Break-up.

 

“Break-up.”

 

Derek sighed as he led Stiles to the bed in the middle of the room. “Yes Stiles, break-up. When two people in a relationship decide to end things. Call it quits. Split up. The Big Dump. I could go on, if it would help.” And Stiles would have just made a snarky comment, if he hadn’t realized that Derek was being entirely genuine.

 

“Uh, no, I get it. But no, we weren’t actually dating. She just wanted me to pretend to dump her so that…”

 

And suddenly a LOT of things made so much more sense.

 

“Oh my god… We’ve been duped…” Stiles let out a low laugh, throwing his hands over his face as he fell backwards onto the dark comforter. Derek was staring at him like he was crazy, so Stiles forced himself to sit back up and face him man-to-man. “Dude, _Erica.”_ As if that was explanation enough.

 

Which apparently it was for Derek, because a look of understanding washed over his face, followed quickly by what looked like relief and then annoyance with a tinge of mild embarrassment. “I’m gonna _kill_ that girl.”

 

Stiles was having none of that. No sir.

 

He crawled over to Derek on his knees, settling just to the side of him before smiling his most unnerving grin. “You like me.”

 

Derek scowled. “I do not.”

 

Stiles laughed, reaching a hand down to grab one of Derek’s. “Yes, you do. You wouldn’t have followed me home to make sure I was safe if you didn’t. Or gotten that close to me against the wall in the alley. _Orrr_ gotten jealous over me and Erica.” Derek pulled a face, and Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. “Don’t even try to deny it, your face says everything. Like right now. And just for future reference, if you think getting rid of contractions in all of your sentences makes your argument anymore legitimate, then _you are wrong.”_ Derek gave a classic Hale eye roll, but his expression softened into more of a resigned fondness. At least, that’s what Stiles chose to believe it was, okay. He had _faith._

 

“Fine. I may like you… a little.” Derek was resolutely looking away again, so Stiles did the obviously rational thing to do in this situation and climbed onto his lap. Derek’s head shot back to face him so quickly that Stiles would have been seriously worried about the prospect of whiplash, had he not had superhuman healing.

 

“Then why did you push me away?”

 

Derek rested his hands tentatively on Stiles’ thighs, digging his fingers in just slightly as he let out a deep breath. “I was just so mad… Do you know how scared I was when that witch threw the knife at you? I thought you weren’t going to be able to get out of the way in time. My stomach _dropped_. And then when we got back and you were just acting so flippant about it…” The fingers tightened, strain evident in Derek’s voice. “I was seeing red. I didn’t want to lose you, but you didn’t seem like you cared one way or another if you lived or died. And I couldn’t deal with that… Not when I almost lost you before I could even _have_ you.”

 

Stiles stared, open-mouthed, as Derek’s eyes bled from the red they had just become during his rant back to their regular green. He was either a lot drunker than he first thought, or Derek wanted him just as badly as he wanted Derek.

 

Before he could ask, Derek’s hands pushed up his thighs and slid around his back, grabbing his ass and holding tight as he rushed forward and stole the words from Stiles’ mouth in a perfect, gut-wrenching kiss.

 

Stiles squeaked. He wasn’t proud of it, but his body had its own agenda that he couldn’t escape. He brought his hands up to clasp Derek’s face, dragging him in closer and slotting their mouths together again and again as they kissed, deeply and open and everything their first kiss should have been.

 

Derek moaned into his mouth and Stiles rolled his hips down, meeting Derek’s hardness with his own as sparks of pleasure shot out through his body from the contact. He dropped a hand from Derek’s face, sliding it down Derek’s neck, his chest, and over the hard abdominal muscles sliding under that perfect skin as he toyed with the small line of hair adorning the space directly between his navel and groin. Derek pulled back just enough to gasp, but he reached a hand down to grab Stiles’ and pull it up to his chest before leaning back in for one more long, bruising kiss.

 

“You’re still way to drunk for this.” Stiles let out a grunt of disagreement, but Derek kept talking. “We’re going to sleep it off, and when you wake up and I take the pain from your imminent hangover, then we can do whatever you want. I’m tired of waiting, Stiles.” He emphasized by pushing his hips up, and Stiles groaned at the delicious friction before he felt himself being rolled onto his back and pushed up the bed slightly.

 

“Fine. But I refuse to be the little spoon. I have _standards,_ you know.” Standards possibly being negated by the fact that someone else was in the process of removing his dirty pants right now, but whatever. The thought was the part that counted.

 

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see, _Wojciech.”_

 

The look on Stiles’ face could literally probably never be reenacted.

 

“How… What… You…” Stiles sputtered, staring up at Derek with a look of absolute indignation and slight terror. “You even _pronounced_ it right. How did you…?”

 

Derek’s body shook with little tremors as he peeled off his shirt and pants and climbed under the covers, sliding up against Stiles’ front and grabbing his hands as he chuckled. “It was _really_ not all that hard to slip your license out of your wallet when you leave the thing out all the time, Stiles.” Derek smiled, genuinely and brightly, and Stiles couldn’t do anything but grin right back at him.

 

“Go to sleep, Wojciech. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

 

Stiles let his eyes fall shut as he burrowed closer into Derek’s heat. He was just starting to drift off when he felt warm lips press against his forehead and that all-too familiar voice whisper, “Thanks, E.”

  
He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi! hoechlincollection.tumblr.com (too lazy to link)


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